


If We Shadows Have Offended

by Sangerin



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: hetfic minis, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 01:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangerin/pseuds/Sangerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I won't always be here,' she says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We Shadows Have Offended

(He dreams.)

I dream of a candlelit room, flickering light thrown against the walls, shifting with the breeze. I dream of her smile, welcoming me into her home. My shyness and awkwardness somehow have faded away, and I know what to say and when to say it. I've never spoken to her this easily; this readily, smoothly, effectively. 

(Part of him wishes he could be this articulate – this suave - in real life. That same part of him knows that this is not real, regrets that it is not, and isn't quite sure that he wants to continue dreaming.)

The dream draws me back in. Back into the candlelit room, into Jenny's soft, direct gaze; her smile, her gentle laughter, her enthusiasm. Her teasing.

She takes my hand and leads me into the room: gold-tinged and warm, her hand soft and solid, surrounding my fingers. We sit on cushions, drink spiced wine before a roaring fire, leaning against a low table with tarot cards scattered across the surface, swords and cups shuffled and spread into nonsense. A pot of tea empties itself, leaving tea leaves in a cup which Jenny turns around and around, before she looks up at me.

'I won't always be here,' she says.

'I know.'

(The part of him that is observing rather than participating knows that this conversation once took place. He remembers the table at the Espresso Pump, the pot of tea he'd ordered out of stubbornness, the way she'd reached across the table, violating his carefully preserved private space to take his cup, swirl it, and read the tea leaves. As she'd moved forward, he'd moved back, until his chair hit that of the person behind him with a thud. And then Jenny grinned, with shining eyes.)

'Don't be sad,' Jenny says, 'when I'm not here.' The fire dies and the candles dim. I can still see her face in the fading light. Still feel her hand in mine. It's all solid. Real. There, right in front of me. I can describe the softness of the cushions and the heat of the fire. The scent of the candles as they burn. The sweetness of spiced wine I never drank on my tongue. Reality blurs in unreality around me. In the candle-twilight she leans forward. Kisses me. I take her hands, ease her back from me gently.

'How can I not be sad?'

'There's more to your life than me,' she says. 'Than us. You won't understand right away. No one could.'

'Why are you telling me this? Why now?'

(The observer in him is now terrified that he'll awaken. This is where the conversation never went. This is what he wants, desperately wants, to hear. This, this will fill the hole that's been there all this time.)

'Because it's what you need to hear.' She's still holding my hands, hasn't let go. Her fingers feel fragile between mine. She leans forward. Whispers, although there's no one there to eavesdrop. 'Life doesn't end. Not a life like hers.'

(He wakes up.)

(He wasn't expecting that. Wasn't expecting Jenny's final words. The certainty of tone. The steady look in her eyes, lit by the flicker of the dying embers of the fire.)

(He knows what she means – what the dream means. He knows. He has enough experience of helping Buffy to interpret her slayer dreams, and in the current situation, the message is clear. Unambiguous. Which makes it no less difficult to accept. Dream or not, there are basic laws of physics. Biology. For all he knows, chemistry and even theodicy. 

Jenny died three years ago. The hole in his heart will never be fully healed, but he can live with it in a way he never thought possible. The dreams had stopped, until now. Until they stood together, battered and broken, at the base of that tower, looking at their worst nightmare. And now, when the dreams return, they're not about her. Not about Jenny.

Yet they'll always be about Jenny. In a way.)


End file.
